Feed a Cold, Starve a Fever
by NCCJFAN
Summary: Post You've Really Got Me. Jordan returns to Boston knowing that she needs Woody to hold her a little tighter...but discovers that it's really Woody that needs her...as badly as she does him.
1. Flying Home

Four days isn't normally such a long time.

But for Jordan they seemed to go on forever. Four days.

Four days since she and Woody had almost kissed – again. Four days since she had put him on the plane and flew him to Miami to hear The Kinks.

Four days she spent aimlessly wandering around LA…revisiting old haunts…reconnecting with old friends….marking the time until _her_ plane flew out of LAX to Boston.

Woody would have been back in that city at least 24-hours by now. She had wanted to leave California to come home as soon as he left the city….but she couldn't. She couldn't change her tickets, so she had been held hostage in a city that made her slightly crazy. Los Angeles. _The city of Angels_…_my ass_, she thought. There was nothing angelic about a city that made you go into anger management.

But now she was on a plane taking her from LA to Chicago. Chicago to Philadelphia. Philadelphia to Logan. And Logan to Woody. She leaned back in her seat, on the last leg of her flight and thought about what he said.

_I just keep pushing people away, Woody. Or I run. What makes me this way?_ She had asked him. _How do I stop?_

_Maybe you just need someone to hold you a little tighter, _was his soft reply.

It was the most romantic thing any man had ever said to her. And he had been very serious…his blue eyes holding hers captive. He had moved to kiss her…his lips just a fraction of an inch from hers. And this time, this time, she was going to let him. Her mouth was already open, his arms had been around his waist. After the four damned long years since their kisses in the Mojave Desert, after so long for waiting on each other to make up their minds, after _everything…_ her cell phone has to ring.

And it wasn't like she could ignore it. Faye's life was on the line. He had whispered against her lips, _Please don't answer that, Jordan. Please_. But she had to. Later, at the karaoke bar, she had given him the airline tickets and the Kinks concert pass. He had to go. She felt badly that he had given up something that meant so much to him to help her.

And she knew she could not have freed Faye without him. It meant the world to her for him to go – that for once…one time in her life…she could give Woody something and not expect anything in return. She did it because….well, she may as well admit it…she loved him. She had for a very long time. She had fought it, cursed it, and nearly been broke into by it, but she did.

He had wanted to stay with her…those four days in Boston. "It's been a long time, Jordan," he had told her…softly sweeping her long hair off her shoulder. "You're not doing this to avoid me?"

"Yeah," she had jokingly admitted, but reached out and gently caressed his cheek. "But I'll be back in Boston. Waiting on you. I'm not going anywhere."

He had turned his head and kissed her palm then, sending fireworks down her arm. If the need to get him in a taxi so he could make his plane hadn't been so urgent, she would have kissed him there….in the middle of the karaoke bar, in front of God and everybody. Instead, when she walked him out to the taxi, she had asked, "Did you mean it, Woody?"

"Mean?" he had asked, not following her line of thinking.

"That maybe all I needed was for someone to hold me a little tighter?"

He had pulled her close and tilted her head up so she would look him in the eyes. "Yes….that's all you need…someone to hold you a little tighter."

"Think you maybe would like to apply for the job?" she had asked softly, joking with him just a little.

"As soon as you and I get back to Boston, the job's mine," he had said, and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead before jumping in the taxi.

And that had been four…almost five days ago. The torrential rains in California had prevented her plane from flying out twice.

But she was on her way home now…back to Boston.

Back to him.

* * *

She was back in Boston, arriving late the night before. They had spoken several times since they had left LA. He had called her from the Kinks concert. "Here that?" he asked. The refrains from "You've Really Got Me" drifted through her cell phone.

"Yeah," she said loudly, so he could hear. "Are you having a good time?"

"I am….I just wish you were here."

"I wish I was there, too."

Then he called when he got back to Boston. He sounded congested. Immediately, she worried. "I just think I picked up a cold, that's all, doc," he teased. I'll be fine. See you in 24."

She called him when she got back to her apartment. "You should have called me at Logan. I would have come and picked you up," he said, sneezing all the while.

"It's late, and you should be asleep. I figured you would be and I'd just leave a message. Are you taking anything for that cold?"

"Nah…I'll be fine."

"Don't be all manly on me, Woody. You need a decongestant. And if you're ears are hurting you need an antibiotic."

"Jordan, I'm fine. See you tomorrow."

"Hey, Woody," she said before he could hang up. "Still applying for the job?"

She could almost see his grin through the phone. "You bet."

Jordan didn't see him until the next day. She was called into a homicide scene with him. She surveyed the crime scene, examined the body, and got it ready to go to the morgue. Then she examined Woody.

"How long have you had that cough?" she asked, walking up to him.

"About five days."

"Taking anything for it?"

"Cough drops."

Jordan gave him an impatient look. "Duh. Have you seen a doctor?"

"It's just a cold…" and a fit of coughing and sneezing took over. She backed away until it stopped. Then going back up to him, she pulled him down to her level and placed her hand on his forehead. He was burning up with fever. "Dear Jesus, Woody," she said. 'You've got a temperature. Go home."

"I can't. Not until this shift is over."

"Give it up, Farm Boy. You're sick. Go home before you infect the rest of the precinct and the morgue."


	2. Taking Care of Woody

**Chapter Two**

**Oops. I forgot to disclaim you in Chapter One. I don't anything to do with Crossing Jordan, it all belongs to NBC and Tim Kring. Wish I did. I would have either had Jordan's cell phone NOT ring when it did and FINALLY have she and Woody kiss, or she would have gone to Miami with him. Alas, I don't have control and the writers haven't consulted me. **

**I don't know about you, but I have a feeling, if Woody's half the man I think he is…he got a kiss before he went to Miami. Somehow…someway…he held her tighter.**

**

* * *

Autopsy done on the victim, Jordan picked up the phone to call Woody. " 'Lo," he responded to the ring, his voice husky and his nose stuffy.**

"Are you _still_ at the office?" she asked, barely hiding her irritation at his stubbornness.

"Yeah, for about 45 more minutes."

Jordan sighed. Men. They never wanted to admit they were sick. "I'm faxing my reports over to you now. Then will you please go home?"

"Let me look them over and see if there's anything else I need to do."

Jordan held her breath and counted to ten. "What if I promise I will follow you home and bring you dinner and medicine?"

"Will you stay for a while?"

"Of course." If bribery was what it took to get him to go home and get some rest, she'd offer it. On a silver platter.

"Deal."

She hung up and faxed over the report. Then grabbing her jacket and pocketbook, she headed for the grocery store, stocking up on Nyquil, Tylenol, Kleenex, tea, honey, and the makings for a chicken soup. Then she stopped by the drug store for a humidifier and a thermometer. Something told her Woody had neither in his studio apartment. An hour later, she was knocking at his door. "Come in. It's open," came his voice from inside.

"So, how are you feeling, Farm Boy?"

"Bad."

"Let's see how bad." She took the thermometer out of its box and popped it in his mouth before he had a chance to protest. His forehead was still hot. After a few minutes, the digital thermometer beeped. "One hundred and two point six," she report. "Yup. You're sick." Woody was probably the victim of poorly recycled air on the plane and then worsened his condition by going from the mild weather of Miami to the frosty conditions of a Boston winter.

"Cold?" he asked.

"Cold or flu. Time will tell. Now," she continued, leaning over him and suggestively stroking his face, "Go take off your clothes…" Woody's eyes lit up. "and get a warm bath. You'll feel better."

"Take one with me?"

"Nope. Not this time. But I will run your bathwater. Hope you like it hot."

"Yeah. That's not the only thing I like hot, Jordan," he said, making a playful grab for her rear.

"You're a sick man. Wait until you get better." She ran his bathwater as hot as she thought he could stand it. The steam would get his sinuses loosened as well as make him relax and take any chills he had off of him. While he emerged himself in the bath, she fixed him a light supper .. tomato soup and grilled cheese. She had it waiting on him when he emerged forty-five minutes later, having donned sweat pants and a t-shirt.

"Thanks," he said, sipping the soup. "But I'm really not too hungry."

Jordan took his hand. "I know…but you need to eat something before you take the Nyquil, or it will make you nauseous." She watched as he ate most of the soup before setting the Nyquil in front of him, stifling a grin when he downed it and made a face. "Now…bed, young man," she said in a playfully stern voice, half-way expecting a fight out of him.

"I think I will," he said. "I'm tired…and I don't feel good. Will you come to bed with me? Just to sleep. I'm afraid that I don't even feel like….and even if I did, I don't have…" his voice sleepily trailed off, somewhat embarrassed at his seemingly less-than-manly admission.

"I'll tuck you in now, Woody. Then when I clean up the kitchen, I'll sleep with you. Remember, you agreed to hold me tighter…I'm making you keep your promise." He gave her a grin before he shuffled off to bed.

Jordan sighed and went back to the dishes. It was quiet in his apartment and she had time to think. Funny, in all their years together, Woody had never been sick. Not once. Now that he was, it frightened her a little….to see him vulnerable. Even though it was only a cold, she had been afraid to leave him alone. She had packed a few of her things to bring with her. Her pajamas. Clothes for work tomorrow. Things for the upcoming weekend. She hung her dishcloth on the stove handle, grabbed her suitcase and headed for Woody's bathroom. She changed into her pajamas, washed her face and began brushing her teeth, not noticing that the door between the bathroom and Woody's bedroom was partially open, giving him a half-way glimpse of her changing.

He had swallowed hard. Thankfully, it wasn't a complete view…he didn't know how he would react if it was. All he saw was part of her legs and thighs, an arm …. And the sweet curve of her bottom. Oh Jesus. If only he wasn't sick. If it wasn't cell phones, it was viruses. Now the woman of his dreams was climbing in the bed with him…and there wasn't a damn thing he felt like doing. There was nothing he could do, as the Nyquil caught up with him and he drifted off to sleep, feeling her arms come around him, holding on to him tightly as he slept.

* * *

Jordan reached over and shut off the alarm on her cell phone, praying it didn't wake Woody up. No such luck. He was looking at her with one eye barely open, his hair sticking out in a million directions, and his face still flushed. His arm was still firmly planted around her waist.

"You know, that damn thing is annoying in more ways than one," he said, making a grab for it.

She pulled it away from his grip and sat it on the night stand. "Sorry. I need to get ready to go to work."

"Do you have to?"

She smiled a little at his voice. He sounded like a little boy who didn't want his mother to leave home. "Yes, I do." she said, pushing away from him and rolling out of bed. "You on the other hand, are quarantined here. You still have a fever."

"Jordan, I've never missed a day of work, other than vacation."

"Well, there's a first time for everything and this is it for you. Believe me, they'll be glad you stayed home. They don't want your germs. Do you want me to call Santana or do you want to?"

"I'll call. If you call, I'll have a million questions to answer." He made the call while Jordan went into his bathroom and got ready. This time the door wasn't left open at all. He was disappointed. He finished his call to Santana, who admonished him to "not show your face until you are completely well." Then he lay back on his pillows and waited for Jordan to come out of the bathroom. A few minutes later, she did.

"I'll call you at break and at lunch," she said, dropping a kiss to his forehead. "Promise me one thing."

"Okay…what?"

"That you'll get up and try to eat something and take some more Tylenol. I'll be back home from work as soon as I can. Okay?"

He readjusted his head on the pillows. Her ways of thinking were changing. She had just called his apartment home. He grinned to himself. "I promise. Now go to work and don't worry about me. Okay?"

She blew him kiss on the way out. "Yeah. Right. See you soon."


	3. Hold Him Tight

**Chapter Three**

But she did. Worry that is. About him. She called at lunch. He was eating and was getting ready to take some Nyquil. That should keep him asleep until she got home that afternoon.

By three, she was creeping back into his apartment, having taken the afternoon off. While it wasn't like Jordan to sneak out early on a Friday, Garret had noticed she was having trouble concentrating at work. "What's up, Jo? Rattle too many skeletons in the closet in LA?" he had inquired, somewhat concerned she may decide to bolt back to her old stomping ground.

"No. It's Woody," she had replied absent-mindedly.

"Woody?" Garret had asked, the amazement edging his voice. "What's the matter with Woody?"

"He's sick."

"Nothing serious, I hope?"

"No. I think it's a cold."

Garret's eyebrows rose. "You're worried over Woody because he has a _cold_?"

Suddenly Jordan realized how completely idiotic she sounded to anyone other than…well…Woody. A pink flush covered her cheeks. "Um…yeah," she admitted.

Garret chuckled. "Jordan…just exactly what went on there in LA with you two? Every time you go to LA with Woody….when you get back home, it's like you're in another world…what does Los Angeles do to you two? May you slightly insane?"

_I think so…it gets us out of Boston and our defenses are down….we are finally honest with each other. Why can't it be like that here? _Jordan thought as she drove back to his apartment. As she pushed the door open, the room was quiet. She tiptoed over to the bed. He was sound asleep. _Good. That's what he needs_. She quietly went back to the kitchen and began cooking dinner. She had the weekend off. Hopefully, her Farm Boy would be feeling much better by Monday.

* * *

"You made this?" he asked, tentatively taking a spoonful of the soup.

"I can cook, Woody."

"I know….I mean I guessed I knew…I've just never seen a domestic side of you."

"What? You think I'm cops and robbers and ME's all the time?"

Woody shook his head. The chicken soup was delicious, and certainly not anything he expected out of Jordan. "How's the fever?" she asked him, when he was through.

"I'm not sure."

Jordan pulled out the thermometer and took his temperature one more time. It was till nearly one hundred. "You're still sick."

"But I feel better."

"It's the Nyquil."

"But I need to work tomorrow."

"Sorry. No going anywhere until your fever breaks."

Woody groaned and leaned back on the couch. Staying inside was nearly killing the over-active detective. "Jordan….you've got to do something."

Jordan thought for a moment. "The only things I know you can do are take Tylenol and lukewarm showers. That will cool you down and help break the fever. You hit the shower, I'll get the medicine."

Reluctantly Woody pulled his body off the couch. He wished, by some stretch of the imagination, that Jordan would join him in the shower. He hadn't been able to get the vision of her undressing in the bathroom out of his head. Nor had he forgotten his promise to be the one that would just hold her tighter. Unfortunately, his cold had gotten in the way. He cursed himself and their seemingly unending run of bad luck and bad timing that kept getting in the way as he stood under the shower spray.

Drying off and wrapping his towel around him, he re-entered the bedroom, changed into a pair of boxers and got in the bed. A minute later, Jordan came in with water and Tylenol in hand. "Here, take this…let's see what that will do," she said, sitting on the side of the bed as he took the medication. "Do you need anything else?" she asked, tucking the sheets and blankets securely around him.

_Oh, I do…but I wonder if you'd give it to me…._ He thought as he let his gaze linger just a minute longer on her face. "Um…no. Are you coming to bed soon?"

"In a little while. I need to check my e-mail and finish the dishes." She pulled the blankets tighter around him. "You go to sleep." She didn't need to say the last part…his eyes were already closing. She smiled softly to herself and went into the kitchen.

* * *

A few hours later, she returned. She changed into a silky night shirt, one that buttoned up the front and fell just short of her knees. Sitting beside him on the bed, she looked at him for just a moment. Woody was truly a gorgeous man. Without his shirt and only in his boxers, it had been all she could do to keep her hand off of him. But he was sick…he didn't need to be bothered with her need for his affections right now. Gently, she placed her hand on his forehead. _Not quite as warm…he may not even have a fever now,_ she thought as she slid her hand down his face to cup his cheek like she did back in the karaoke bar in LA. _Maybe I'd better take the couch tonight_, she thought, not sure if she could trust herself. She needed Woody to hold her tighter, but the truth was, she needed to hold him. She had been worried about him all week, fighting the need to touch him in order to reassure herself that he was okay. And he probably wasn't up to her neediness. _Yeah, the couch is definitely a better idea_, she thought to herself again, reluctantly removing her hand.

"Where do you think you're going?" Woody asked, startling her. She could have sworn he was asleep.

"I …I was going to sleep on the couch."

"Why?"

"I just don't know if it's a good idea for me to sleep with you tonight."

"Are you running, Jo? Regretting asking me to be the one to hold you tighter?"

"No…it's just that you're still sick and," she was finding it difficult to keep her train of thought as the slid his hand up her arm and then back down it to firmly grasp her hand. "I just don't now if it's a good idea,' she weakly finished.

"I think it's a great one," he said, tugging her to him, so that her head was cushioned on his chest. He began to run his fingers through her hair.

"Woody…you've been sick."

"And I'm better now."

"But…"

"No buts." He was pulling her beneath the covers with him now, still keeping her prone on top of him. "There's no one here but us…we have the whole weekend."

"Exactly. And we should make sure you're all better before…."

"Jordan. I need you," he interrupted. "Not for that… not now. Later. Definitely. But I just need you here. Now. With me. I've noticed a side of you the last couple of days I haven't seen many times before…at least towards me. Tenderness. Compassion. Real concern. Why?"

"I hate seeing you sick. You've never been sick before…at least that I can remember."

Woody chuckled. "Did it scare you?"

"No, not exactly….it did make me wonder, though."

"Wonder what?" He was rubbing her back.

"Wonder what I would do without you…if anything ever happened."

"Now you know how I feel every time you go chasing after the bad guys without waiting on me."

She swallowed hard. "It's not a great feeling."

"I know." He continued to rub her back in lazy circles. "I couldn't bear to lose you, either. Know why?"

She shook her head. "No. You could do so much better than me, Woody."

He tilted her head to look in his eyes. "I couldn't handle losing you, because I need you to hold me tighter, too. To keep me focused. To remind me what's important. To let me know that someone in this big city really cares. That's why I need you here with me. Now. And for always."

Gazing in his eyes, Jordan knew he was telling her the truth. "I can do that. Hold you tighter. As long as you're holding me back."

"Deal," he said, lowering his lips to hers. This time the cell phone didn't ring. This time, no computer interrupted with e-mail alerts. This time, there was no strange little man that believed in aliens interrupting them. Woody rolled Jordan onto her back, deepening the kiss. It was a sweet kiss, full of promises of things to come, and with enough underlying passion to let her know that soon, as quickly as the cold left, and the planets realigned themselves one more time, he would hold her even tighter.

Until then, she had to feed his cold and starve his fever…and hold him tight.


End file.
